


Delilah

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Homoerotic Violence, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Trans Male Character, rated M for dysphoria mention, set between the first and second movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: Herbert turns the scissors over in his hands. He is not typically a very self-reflective man, but he wonders whether there isn’t more than one way to hold a blade to somebody’s throat. Whether Dan would still be here if he had anywhere else to go.Herbert cuts Dan's hair.
Relationships: Daniel Cain/Herbert West
Comments: 15
Kudos: 52





	Delilah

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Samson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11109339) by [tsv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsv/pseuds/tsv). 



> you ever wake up and remember a fic you read two years ago for another fandom and you're like "mad scientists are all the same"

“Damnit.” Herbert hears Dan swear softly from the curtained off section of their tent that passes for a bathroom, and looks up from where he’s making notes on the latest round of tests to the reagent. It’s humid this evening. Always is in Peru. When the sun goes down it turns into a creeping damp that isn’t so very different from autumn in Arkham. Herbert can almost pretend they’re home, in the evenings. That he hadn’t dragged Dan out here to get shot at and panic and melt down. 

There’s a small clatter of metal in the basin of their makeshift sink and Herbert gets up. “Daniel? Are you alright?” He calls through the curtain, and Dan huffs out a breath of irritation. 

“I’m fine, it’s just this stupid- why is this mirror so low?” 

Herbert walks into the bathroom to find Dan with a pair of medical scissors and a strand of his hair between his fingers, hunched slightly in front of the sink. He sighs. The mirror is low because Herbert hung it for himself, propped it between nails on a wooden support for the tent when he realized he was meant to share a bathroom with the rest of the camp. Communal bathrooms are acceptable for relieving oneself but Herbert cannot and will not shower or shave in a space where there is a chance somebody else will walk in on him. Hence the mirror, the basin, this space Herbert had made for himself but which Dan had instantly assumed was for him as well by virtue of them sharing the tent. Herbert finds he can’t really begrudge it of him. 

Dan glances sideways at Herbert as he snips cautiously at a strand of his hair. Herbert can almost see the wheels turning in his mind. He straightens up. 

The scissors come out between them, handle extended towards Herbert. Blades carefully closed in Dan’s fist. “Herbert, would you…?” 

Herbert nods and pulls the tall stool from beside the sink. Dan sits and his face is just barely in frame in the small mirror. He meets Herbert’s gaze over his shoulder. “Thank you.” 

“It’s no trouble.” Herbert says, breaking eye contact to brush Dan’s hair off his neck, watching the way his pulse thrums away under the touch. Dan swallows, and Herbert wonders whether he’s thinking the same thing, that it would be so very easy, physically, to hurt Dan right now. That he’s given Herbert an enormous amount of power, or at least the appearance of it. 

Herbert turns the scissors over in his free hand. He is not typically a very self-reflective man, but he wonders whether there isn’t more than one way to hold a blade to somebody’s throat. Whether Dan would still be here if he had anywhere else to go. Whether it is too much to hope that this vulnerability, this moment of trust between them, is evidence he has no intention of leaving. 

There is an old story, no better than a fairy tale, really, in the grand scheme of things, about a woman who cut her lover’s hair to deprive him of his strength. Herbert wonders briefly whether she just wanted to ensure she kept him, and immediately feels sick. He is no woman, will never have the tools necessary to hold Dan, still grieving for Meg even as he pursues the journalist who keeps sticking her nose into their tent. There is no way for him to give Dan what he wants without sacrificing himself in the process. Without cutting himself down to nothing but parts, no better than anything else on his slab. 

Dan’s hair is silky smooth beneath his fingers, and Herbert sighs. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” 

Dan shrugs. “It’s hot here, Herbert, and it’s always in the way.” 

“It suits you, though.” 

Dan looks startled. “Does it?” 

Herbert nods and meets Dan’s eyes again, and he isn’t sure what to make of the expression he finds there. Dan shifts on the stool and looks away, clears his throat. There are a thousand things Herbert wants Dan to know and he cannot think how to say any of them. He strokes a hand through Dan’s hair again. 

Dan stands up. “You know what, it’s fine. Never mind.” Dan pats him gently as he leaves the room and It feels like a rejection and a liberation all at once, and Herbert wishes he could stop _thinking_ long enough to _do something_ but he doesn’t know what to do. 

It is humid and close in the tent, and Herbert feels the hand on his shoulder long after Dan has left the small bathroom, long after he’s gone out into the dark night to be alone and Herbert has sat back down with his notes. Incredible how parts prove less volatile than entire people.


End file.
